The One Where Phoebe Can't Remember
by ravenswoodmoon
Summary: Phoebe awakens on the floor of a dark hotel room. Her body is bruised and she has no memory of how she ended up there or what caused her injuries.
1. The One Where Phoebe Wakes Up

The One Where Phoebe Wakes Up

Phoebe roused awake. Her head was pounding and a stale taste resided in her mouth. "Ugh," she groaned. Her eyes were sealed shut by the crust of dried fluids, but she forced them open slowly, her face still buried in the dank smelling carpet.

The room was dark, though she could see some light peaking from behind the heavy curtains. She licked her dried lips a few times trying to get rid of the foul taste. "Where am I?"

Phoebe brought her arms up and attempted to lift herself from the ground. A sharp pain shot through her left arm causing her to fall to the ground, hitting a bruise on her shoulder. Tears began streaming from her eyes while she lay on her back holding herself. A few moments of recovery, a second attempt, and she was sitting up.

She brushed the crust from her eyes to try to see more clearly, but there wasn't enough light. She rubbed her head and felt a sore spot on the side where she must have hit it the night before. The air was heavy and moist, with a metallic odor. She knew this smell, and it wasn't good.

She struggled to stand, but the dull pain made it difficult. She felt like her body had been hit by a bus, had fallen from 20 feet onto hard cement, had taken the worst beating of its life. Through the aches and the creaks of her joints, she got to her feet and stumbled to the window, managing to pull back the curtains to reveal a bright day outside. The light served only to point out the falling waves of dust in the room.

Phoebe cringed at the brightness, at the low sun shining directly in her face. She turned her head away and saw shards of glass on the floor from what was previously a mirror hanging above it, markings on the wall from where the glass had dug itself in, and her own battered reflection. She walked up to the broken mirror and examined herself. There was blood on her clothing and a bruise on her face, but she couldn't find a cut on her body anywhere. Fearing the worst, she looked slowly around the room.

It was small. Two twin beds stood against one wall, a nightstand between them. She was in a hotel room, she could figure out that much. Probably a cheap motel at best. A lamp lay broken atop one of the beds while a phone cord dangled unattached to anything. A dark mass was across the room from her and she knew what it was.

The body was crumpled up in the corner on the other side of the window. Blood had pooled around it, glistening slightly from the light. Phoebe walked slowly toward it, afraid of who it might be. Might have been. As she approached, it became clear that it was a man. Dark hair, similarly battered, a wrist slashed, and a piece of glass next to him.

She stood over him and studied his face. It was pale, his nose was broken and blood smeared around his mouth, a patch of hair was missing, probably torn out. Phoebe's face grew ashen as a sense of horror and recognition set in. "Joey?" her voice shaked. "Joey, get up." Tears came to her eyes and her throat began to close. She knelt down and caressed his cheek, not noticing how cold it was, how still it was, how peaceful it was as compared to the way his body laid on the ground.

She rubbed her face and winced at the pain. "What have I done?" she asked in a low whisper. "What the fuck happened? Why are you dead?" Minutes passed as her mind scrambled to regain memories of the previous night, but nothing came. The last thing she could remember was driving around upstate New York with Joey the day before.

"I'm sorry." She stood up and searched for belongings. A leather jacket was on the floor—hers. She threw it on and checked the pockets. Her cell phone was nearly dead—6:36pm, several missed calls and text messages—names and numbers she knew, names and numbers she didn't. She checked her other pockets and found credit cards and a driver's license. The picture was hers, the name was Ursula's.


	2. The One Where Phoebe Drives Away

The One Where Phoebe Drives Away

Phoebe stuffed the cards back into her pocket and continued to search around. She found a crumpled five dollar bill, a matchbook for the Quicksands Casino, a $100 gambling chip, and a Queen of Diamonds card. Remembering that her phone was nearly dead, she took a pad of paper and a pen from the drawer and scribbled down as many names and numbers from the recent history as she could. Monica, Monica's husband, Ross G, Diana F., Wayne K., Regina, and Mike Hannigan. Mike had left her 4 months ago; she had moved on and changed her number. The phone flashed a battery meter and promptly turned dark.

"Damn it." She tore the paper from the pad and stuffed it into her pocket. Deciding it was time to move out, Phoebe searched around for her shoes. A pair of flats lay in the bathroom next to the door. On the counter were a set of car keys—they looked like rentals—and an unopened pregnancy test. She pulled on the shoes and took the keys, clenching them tightly, but opted to leave the test where it was.

A glance at the mirror revealed a woman who had seen better days. She washed her face quickly and wiped of all the blood. Her hair was a mess, but when she tussled it right, the bruise on her cheek was barely noticeable. The fresh towel on the rack was the only thing in the place that smelled clean. She patted her face dry, no longer wincing from the pain.

She came back to the main room and looked over to the cold body in the corner. "I'd ask you, 'How you doin'?' but...I guess we know the answer to that one," she whispered. "I love you, Joey Tribbiani."

She let the weight of her friend's death sink in one last time, breathing in deeply and letting it go, as she had done in the past. The keys jingled as she twirled the ring in her finger, heading for the door. She reached for the doorknob and a flash hit her.

_"You can't do that," Joey said._

_Phoebe stood at the door, reaching to turn the handle. "Yeah? And you can't tell me what I can't do." Clutching the cold metal in her hand felt right, but the moment was short-lived._

_"Phoebe, no!" Joey screamed._

She snapped her head back at Joey's body, grabbed the knob, and slammed the door behind her.

The keys twirled around her finger as she walked onto the asphalt. A black sedan was waiting on the other side of the parking lot. Phoebe recognized it as the car she and Joey had ridden in on their way out of New York City. She pressed the unlock button on the alarm remote, but a car behind her beeped. She turned around and pressed the lock button—a honk and a flash of the lights greeted her. A silver car was begging for attention. A superior sleek Lexus to the quaint overused Honda.

She walked up to the car and unlocked it again. The door gave way to a fresh smelling interior. The front seats were empty, but she decided there wasn't enough time at the moment to examine it any further. The door clipped close easily, the engine started smoothly, and she was off.

The road was alien, yet familiar. She wasn't sure where she was, but she knew the curves. The GPS in the car wasn't much help—all the streets in the area were arboreal-themed: Pine Street, Needles Drive, Ashwood Lane. She kept one eye on the road while entering information into the GPS screen. The only Quicksands Casino the system found was in New Jersey. Had she looked carefully at the address from the pad of paper in the motel, she would see that she was already in the state. 18 miles away, three-quarters' tank of gas, and the sun was beginning to set on the fall evening.


	3. The One With The Casino

The One With The Casino

The casino was bustling just before 8pm. Phoebe parked the car in the rows upon rows of quiet automobiles, close enough to the entrance to make a quick getaway if needed, but far enough away that her leg started giving her trouble as she neared the door. Inside, it smelled of cheap perfume and lost wages. The lights were a dingy yellow, perhaps colored by decades of cigarette smoke clinging to every surface. She quickly surveyed the floor: horse races immediately to the right next to the bar, cash exchange windows along the left wall, to the rear she could spy card tables, and all around her were dollar slot machines. She walked towards the bar.

"Gin and tonic, light on tonic," she said to the bartender.

"Sure thing." The bartender was a middle-aged man. Seasoned. He knew what he was doing, and from the look on his face, he knew Phoebe wasn't messing around. She came to the casino for a reason. "What are you here for?" he demanded, his accent thick.

Phoebe was surprised he'd be so forward. "I'm not sure yet," she responded.

The bartender had clearly grown up on the streets of New York and tried to make a normal living here in New Jersey. "Listen, we don't want no trouble, okay?" He slid the drink across the bar to her. She read his nametag.

"Thanks, Al." She gave the drink a quick stir with the straws. "I'm not looking for trouble, I just want some answers."

"Wayne's in the back if you need to see him."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Wayne's in the back," she repeated. The bartender knew who she was, but she had no idea how. "Wayne's in the back," she said again. She glanced over her left shoulder, but all she could see was a wall of slot machines. Wayne was one of the names from her phone. Wayne would know something about what's going on. She turned back to Al, "How much for the drink?"

He patted the bar, "On the house." He flashed a smile before he turned to other customers.

Phoebe picked up her tumbler and took one big gulp, avoiding the ice. She needed the courage to see what was going on in the back, to meet Wayne.

The casino floor was labyrinthine. The carpet was awash with bright reds and blues, disorienting spots of yellow and white, and occasional ticks of green to confuse even longtime frequenters. She moved beyond the slots, worked her way around the poker and the craps. In the back, she was faced with two options: a chapel and a strip club.

Before she could choose, two women exited the strip club. They were clearly dancers—their hoodies zipped up so low that their cleavage was big enough to see from Rhode Island. Wayne—such a vile name—wouldn't be in the chapel.

The two women pushed past and engaged in only their idle gossip without glancing once at Phoebe. She caught the door before it closed completely.

_"Don't listen to her," Joey said. "Regina is a lying bitch."_

_Phoebe saw herself slap Joey across the face. "I trusted you!" Joey held his cheek. "Where's my money?" she yelled. "Huh? Where is my fucking money?" She raised her arm to hit him again, but he pushed her back._

_"Don't you fucking touch me. My mama raised me to never hit a lady, but you're not much of a lady."_

_She took off her leather jacket and threw it to the floor. "What are you going to do?" She jabbed a sharp finger at his chest. "You gonna hit me?"_

The strip club was dimly lit. Pale blue lights adorned the walls while purple and pink spotlights pointed at the stage and dug deep musculature into the dancer's body. The girl on the platform undulated to the rhythmic bass, completely ignoring the brass pole 3 feet behind her, opting for paper fans to expertly conceal and reveal exactly what she needed to, while keeping herself cool. Her stomach showed off years of experience, her breasts were aged yet still supple, and her hands betrayed her rough life.

Phoebe realized that she was standing in the doorway staring for too long. She glanced around for a familiar face, but saw no one she recognized. She took a chair towards the rear, not quite hidden by the shadows and smoke. The fan dancer made eye contact briefly before whipping her hair in front of her face. _She knows something_, Phoebe thought to herself.

The song finished and the dancer vanished backstage. Phoebe took a sip of her drink and waited patiently. Minutes passed, the next dancer came out on stage and grasped the pole with her legs. She wasn't nearly as impressive as the last girl.

"What are you doing here?" a female voice came from behind. It was the dancer with the fans, she knew it.

"Where's Wayne?" Phoebe replied without turning around.

"Are you serious?" The voice drew closer, "You'd better leave before he catches you in here."

The hair stood on the back of her neck. "I'm not leaving until I get some damn answers." She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she tried to calm herself.

"40 minutes. Meet me around back, next to the rabbit hole." Phoebe nodded. "And try not to talk to anyone else while you're here, Ursula."


	4. The One With The Rabbit Hole

The One With The Rabbit Hole

There were few lights outside the casino's back area. No parking, just trashcans and dealers on their breaks. Phoebe walked along the wall until she came to the back entrance to the strip club. On the door was a spray painted Playboy bunny—the rabbit hole. Quaint that these used up girls likened themselves to models. They were nothing by low-class single mothers who made some bad mistakes in life.

Phoebe stood just outside the circle of light from the bulb over the rabbit hole. She nearly blended in with the shadows. It was another 10 minutes before the door opened. The dancer stepped out into the darkness of the night and Phoebe cleared her throat. The girl turned around, startled.

"You scared me," she said.

Phoebe was careful to stay out of the light. "Who are you?"

She was caught off guard by the question. "Diana," she stated carefully. "You're not Ursula, are you? I know who you are."

"I'm her twin sister," Phoebe said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, she's talked about you. Listen, I don't want to get caught out here. You got a car?"

Phoebe nodded her head and they started walking towards the parking lot, careful to stay in the shadows, not drawing attention to themselves. "Who is Wayne?"

"Wayne Knight, owner and proprietor of this casino. Shakes down the girls for extra money, greases the mafia to keep his cache of drugs, and hires goons to do his dirty work. Why do you need to talk to him so badly?"

Phoebe paused in thought. "I don't know." She was surprised at her own admission. "I don't know anything, but I know he has some answers for me."

Diana got in front of Phoebe and stopped, poking her finger into Phoebe's collarbone. "You can't just come to this place and ask for Wayne. Your sister took a lot of money from him and he's angry. You look like her, and I'm willing to bet that the only answer he has for you is the open barrel of a gun."

_"Joey, put the gun down!" Phoebe pleaded._

_He raised his arm straight out in front of him and stated, "This ends now."_

_She picked up the lamp on the nightstand and threw it at him. Joey swatted it away with his forearm, but it shattered onto one of the beds. His arm began bleeding and he dropped the gun. She moved towards him, "Joey, I'm sorry." He shoved her away and she tripped over the leather jacket on the floor, hitting her head on the bed post._

Phoebe hardly flinched at what Diana said. "My best friend is dead. My husband left me. I have nothing to my name. I have nothing to lose. Wayne is the only person who can help me."

"Wayne will kill you!" Diana nearly shouted.

"Do you have any better ideas?"

Diana swallowed a rock. "I can help you." She turned around and started walking far out into the parking lot.

Phoebe stood in place. She needed answers but realized she had no questions. She quickly formulated some in her head: Why did Ursula steal Wayne's money? Where was Ursula in all of this? Who was Wayne and why did he have so much power? Who killed Joey?

"Get in!" a familiar voice yelled to her. She hadn't noticed that blood was splashed across her clothes. She hadn't noticed that a car had silently sped through the parking lot. She hadn't noticed that one moment Diana was walking away from her, and the next she was lying in a pool of blood on the asphalt. "Phoebe, get in!" the voice yelled with urgency.

Phoebe remained still and silent. Before her was a dark blue car, no lights on, passenger door wide open. On the ground next to her was the body of a dancer, bloodied but still breathing. She knew the voice, but she didn't trust it.


	5. The One Without Feeling

The One Without Feeling

The car drove smoothly. The interior was dark, the windows tinted a deep blue. The air was still and the moment was quiet. Phoebe took in the environment around her. She wanted to feel the earth moving beneath her. She wanted to hear anything but the silence roaring in her ears.

Standing in the parking lot with blood on her shirt, she had no choice but to get in the car. If she stayed, someone would have come for her, someone from the casino would have seen the incident, someone would try to kill her. If she had run, they would find her. And if they caught her, they would have known better than to believe her cries that she wasn't Ursula, and Phoebe would have died for her sister's sins.

"Say something," the driver begged. Phoebe sat still. Her eyes pointed down at her blood-stained clothes. What had led her to this point? Her hands were still, at least that. But she couldn't tell if she had been so emotionally abused that there was nothing left for her to feel. "Phoebe!"

"Why did you kill her?" she asked calmly, raising her eyes to the road.

"She was going to take you straight to Wayne."

"She was going to help me."

"Phoebe, she was going to sell you to him so that she could get out from under him. She owed him a lot of favors and you were her ticket out of there."

"She had answers for me," she nearly yelled.

"I have the answers you need!" The car rolled on eastward as the moon rose higher in the sky. It was a cloudless night, but driving through the woods made Phoebe feel claustrophobic.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I'm here to help you. I'm here to take you home."

"Mike, what are you doing here?"

_"What are you doing here?" Ursula said to her sister._

_"This was part of the plan," Phoebe tried to explain._

_Ursula slammed the motel door behind her. "Joey, what is she doing here?"_

_"I don't know what you're talking about." Joey backed up against a wall._

_"Ursula, calm down. We talked about this. The plan, the money, the drugs. It's all safe." Phoebe tried to assuage her sister, and spoke calmly. "Can we just sit down for a minute?"_

_Ursula took off her leather jacket and threw it to the floor. "Shut up. You have no right to be here." She turned to Joey, "What the fuck is she doing here?"_

"I'm here to help you. I'm here to take you home." Mike glanced at his wife. She was battered, but still the most beautiful woman he ever knew.

"I don't want to go home. Not until I find out what happened. We need to find Ursula—she's the only one who knows what went down in that motel last night."

He drove quietly for a moment to process the statement. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

"Joey's dead and Ursula was there. She wanted money. You ran over a stripper. I remember that much."

"Joey's dead and Ursula was there," he repeated. "Did she kill him?"

"What do you think?"

"Phoebe, I'm asking you: did Ursula kill Joey?"

Her eyes continued to train on the road ahead. The moon was bright and high now. "I don't know." She took her eyes from the road and looked at Mike. "I don't remember. I was passed out, I think."

"You don't remember because you were passed out?" he stated more than asked. "Phoebe, it's not that you don't remember. You choose not to."

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that—she chose not to remember—but the back windshield shattered with a spray of bullets and Phoebe was suddenly hit by how much bigger this was than Joey, Ursula, Wayne, and Diana.


End file.
